When I took clothes to be my fitting in the world, the repairs went like this:
50 buttons too small, 50 patches too flowery, 50 particles of gray lint
I picked off like scabs. When I took every door to be an entry, the walking went like this:
I must be coming to a certain point, I must be seeking out this environment
for purpose. These things I have, whether or not for use. Yesterday the sky was gray,
and the slabs on concrete under my feet came to life.
50 buttons too small, 50 patches too flowery, 50 particles of gray lint
I picked off like scabs. When I took every door to be an entry, the walking went like this:
I must be coming to a certain point, I must be seeking out this environment
for purpose. These things I have, whether or not for use. Yesterday the sky was gray,
and the slabs on concrete under my feet came to life.
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